


Meet Me More Than Halfway

by coruscera (impractica)



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Awkwardness, Friends to Lovers, M/M, So much talking, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impractica/pseuds/coruscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vaughn hasn't been fooled into thinking Rhys is cool. Vaughn <i>knows</i> he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me More Than Halfway

**Author's Note:**

> This is some self-indulgent nonsense, y'all. Just stretching my legs here.
> 
> Title from "Clearest Blue" by CHVRCHES.

They fooled around once. Rhys has never mentioned it, so Vaughn hasn’t either, of course, but he thinks about it sometimes. Occasionally. When the mood is just right. When they’re sharing a nice moment together, say, and he just really feels like tormenting himself.

So... constantly, then. He thinks about it constantly.

“Hey, bro,” Rhys says, flopping down onto the low, plush sofa beside Vaughn. He’s way too tall for executive-level decorative furniture, but he settles into a deep slouch anyway and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “How’s it going? Long day?”

‘Long day’ doesn’t even begin to cover it: Vaughn sat through four meetings about file naming rules _and_ got dragged into an intra-departmental debate about spreadsheet color-coding etiquette, all before lunch. But when Rhys smiles expectantly at him, Vaughn suddenly finds it hard to care about any of that stuff. Or anything that’s not the warm beam of Rhys’s undivided attention, actually. Rhys tends to have that effect on him, even when they’re just hiding out in an empty office after hours, shooting the shit and killing time until the cafeteria crowds thin out.

It’s pretty embarrassing.

“Oh, you know,” he says, waving a hand. “Numbers, math, finger gun fights over the last slice of stale cake in the break room. You?”

Rhys shrugs and his easy smile twists a little. Vaughn lets his gaze stray down for just a second, just long enough to track the curve of that smooth, pale mouth and then feel guilty for doing it. 

“Same shit, different day,” Rhys says. “I caught Vasquez trying to brute-force the password on my workstation, so that was exciting, I guess?”

“Dude. Again? He still hasn’t figured out that you have a built-in alarm system?” Vaughn gestures at Rhys’s cybernetic arm.

“Well, he is an idiot,” Rhys says, his tone full of mock regret. “It’s kinda fun, though, watching him try to come up with a good lie on the spot when I bust him. He’s so awful at it.”

Vaughn laughs. “Uh-oh. Not the one about the software version audits again, I hope? That was so dumb, even for Vasquez.”

“No, this time it was security spot checks.” Rhys adopts his best Hyperion face and drops his voice into a halfway decent (if a little squeaky, not that Vaughn would ever say so) Vasquez impression. “Great job, Rhys. Your password can’t be guessed by an intelligent human within the probable threat neutralization window. I’ll be sure to note this in my final assessment for the interdisciplinary security protocol subcommittee.”

“Oh my god.” Vaughn pushes his glasses up on his head so that he can stifle his laughter in his hands. “What is wrong with this company? How do complete morons keep getting jobs here?”

Rhys shakes his head and claps a hand companionably against Vaughn’s leg. Against his whole thigh, really: Rhys’s hands are so big that his splayed fingers reach from the inner to the outer seam of Vaughn’s pant leg. Vaughn swallows hard and tries to fight off the memories suddenly threatening to surface, the knowledge of how Rhys’s hands fit against other parts of his body. “Beats me, man,” Rhys says. “I guess the talent pool really dried up after they found you.”

“Ha, okay,” Vaughn scoffs. “Like I didn’t get hired in the first place because some genius hacker prodigy I happened to know rigged it for me, but thank you, that’s very kind.” And it’s true: Hyperion wanted Rhys, all bright-eyed and charming, effortlessly bending people and computers alike to his will by the time he graduated. They only offered Vaughn an interview because that’s what _Rhys_ wanted, Vaughn is quite sure.

“No way,” Rhys says, knocking his foot against Vaughn’s. “You know they hired you because you’re awesome. It had nothing to do with me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously.” Rhys bumps him again, harder this time, and Vaughn lets himself sway dramatically to the side a little. It’s that or push back into the hard press of Rhys’s shoulder, and that’s—that’s too much: his thigh still burns where Rhys’s hand rested on it. “I heard about your interview, that stuff you showed them with the subaccount… journal entry… budget… ledger… thingy… look, I’m just saying words here, I don’t actually understand your job, not even a little. But they were impressed, I know that much.”

Vaughn examines his hands, trying to keep the dopey smile off his face as warmth sparks in his chest. He knows what Rhys is talking about, a little trick he came up with on the fly to automate the cleanup of the daily entries so they tracked better with month-end projections. But it wasn’t even a big deal: he was just trying to prove that he had ideas, that’s what you do in interviews, and the newest process he designed is way more streamlined anyway.

“Yeah, well,” he says finally. “I guess I have my moments.”

“More than moments,” Rhys says, not missing a beat. He crooks his neck down until he can catch Vaughn’s gaze and hold it. “You're a good guy, Vaughn. Way better than all the other dickheads in this place.”

The warmth flares, hot tendrils curling down into Vaughn’s gut. And that’s when it breaks through finally, a vivid flash from years ago, from another night a lot like this one: Rhys regarding him intently across their dingy little dorm table, lips shiny-wet in the lamplight and and an empty shot glass still dangling from his fingers.

Vaughn forces out a sound that’s half laugh, half throat-clear. It’s so stupid—this is Rhys, his buddy. His best friend. But the sense memories are filtering in hard and fast, threatening to overwhelm him: Rhys’s thick hair twisted in his fingers, Rhys’s hot, slick mouth pressed to the sensitive spot behind his ear.

It’s really not great for Vaughn’s sanity. Or his language skills.

“Whatever,” he manages, aiming for casual and missing so hard he probably knocks the space station off course. He tries to wrangle his thoughts back into more coherent territory, but his eyes keep catching on the dark curves of ink arcing out of the crisp line of Rhys’s collar. Vaughn’s traced those circles with his tongue; he knows that they taste like sweat and leftover cologne at the end of the day. “No need to blow smoke, dude. There are plenty of decent people here. Yvette, Elliott, JR from distribution.” He pauses, then forces himself to say it before he loses his nerve: “You.”

Rhys is more than a decent person, of course. Rhys is a _great_ person, and then some, and just as Vaughn’s trying to stuff those unspoken opinions back behind the tatters of his half-assed poker face, another memory washes over him, this time of Rhys’s wicked, drunken grin as he swept the tabletop clear with one hand and pulled Vaughn down on top of him with the other.

Vaughn’s subconscious is nothing if not profoundly cruel.

“Dude.” Rhys looks dubious, but his voice is kind. “I appreciate that, I truly do, but let’s be real here. I spend every waking minute trying to plot and backstab my way up the org chart of this fine establishment.” He smirks, the twist in his lips intentionally, exaggeratedly sleazy, and fuck if Vaughn doesn’t want to lick even the worst of Rhys’s smiles right off his face. “Vasquez aside, I am, without a doubt, the biggest dickhead in all of Hyperion.”

Vaughn laughs out loud at that, his own internal struggles forgotten for a moment, because it’s literally the dumbest thing he's ever heard. But he stops short when he sees that Rhys’s expression hasn't changed, because, oh hell, Rhys actually believes that.

“What?” Vaughn elbows Rhys in the ribs, kind of harder than he means to. He’s so irritated that he almost doesn’t notice the swoop in his gut when Rhys doesn’t bother to curl away from the blow. “That is such bullshit, you know that, right? You are the smartest, hardest working, most _badass_ person in all of Hyperion! It’s not backstabbing, you’re doing what you have to. Means to an end, buddy. You’re gonna get Henderson’s chair one of these days soon, and then after that, who knows? Someday you’re gonna be in charge of this whole place, just like Jack, except, y’know, you actually have a soul, so you’ll be a real leader who makes things better and it’ll be awesome!”

Vaughn stops to take a breath, but it’s only when he sees Rhys’s startled expression that he really registers how he just said a whole bunch of words, most of them embarrassing. He wonders if he’s lucky enough that a captured psycho might get loose and come drag him away, maybe beat him senseless for good measure.

“Uh,” he appends. Like an idiot.

“The most badass person in all of Hyperion,” Rhys says haltingly, like the words don’t fit right in his mouth. His eyes are still wide, one of them the rich, warm brown Vaughn’s always loved and the other flashing with the brilliant, telltale blue of the ECHO eye.

“Oh, shut up,” Vaughn says, slumping back into the sofa. “You know what I mean. Everyone thinks your shit is red hot, that’s not even news.”

“They do?”

“Uh, yeah,” Vaughn confirms. “How’ve you not noticed that?” And, seriously: how has Rhys not _noticed_ that?

“Everyone?”

There’s a— _something_ there, in that one little word, something sharp that Vaughn does his best to ignore even as his whole body goes hot. “Well, wasn’t that the whole point? Workplace advancement through better grooming or whatever?”

Rhys’s eyebrow goes up. “I think that’s probably oversimplifying it a little, but… sure? That was part of it.”

“Thank you. And so, what, you’re actually surprised that it worked? Your plans always work, that’s how you roll, that’s.” Vaughn searches for the right word, but there isn’t one. “That’s just you, bro.”

“Vaughn—”

“ _Rhys_ ,” Vaughn cuts in. “There’s no way I’m telling you stuff you don’t already know here, man. Come on. Work with me.”

“No, I get it,” Rhys says. He’s smiling like he’s embarrassed now, though, a shy little quirk of his lips that looks strange on him. “I know how it probably comes across. But I’m just saying, it’s… it’s bullshit, right? That’s the dickhead part, it’s all the Hyperion game. I didn’t—.” He sighs and scratches at the back of his neck. “Listen, in all seriousness, if it ever seemed like I was pulling any of that fake-cool shit with you, or… I don’t know, just generally being too gross with it, I guess? I’m sorry, dude. Really. That wasn’t my intention. I get so caught up in this place sometimes, but I didn’t mean to—that—with you. I would never. It’s all for these assholes, the stupid act they expect, you know?”

Vaughn stares at Rhys, dumbfounded. That’s—no, that’s not what he meant, not at all. Not even close. Everyone adores Rhys, sure: they’ve all been dazzled by the well-dressed smooth talker who flashes them his fuck-you eyebrow and swans around the station like he owns the place. Of course they have. And that’s cool, Vaughn has no problem with that. He gets it.

But the thing is, Vaughn knows the real Rhys: the guy who stays up late with him to read comics and eat cheap ice cream bars, who wears novelty socks and underwear to match most days. The guy who collects hacker movies and who, Vaughn is pretty sure, has a line of code from an old video game tattooed on his shoulder blade. The guy who’s a complete and total dork, a true nerd right down to his core, and who inspires everyone he meets to worship him anyway.

Vaughn hasn't been fooled into thinking Rhys is cool. Vaughn _knows_ he is.

“Gee, thanks,” he says finally, because he has to say something. He slants a wounded look at Rhys. “So anyone who thinks you're a cool guy is an asshole now, huh? Good to know, I guess.”

“Vaughn, no, come on.” Rhys kicks gently at Vaughn’s foot. “That’s not what I meant, okay? I obviously don’t think you’re an asshole, it’s just everyone else here who—”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Vaughn says, waving him off. “If that’s all it takes, then I guess it’s true: I’m an asshole. I’m the _original_ asshole.” Rhys sighs, exasperated, but Vaughn is on a roll now. “Patient zero, right here. I knew you were amazing way before anyone on this hunk of junk even knew your name, so, sure.” He points at the space around them, at nothing in particular but at Hyperion in general. “Eat it, losers! _Nobody_ here has loved Rhys as long as I have.”

And… yeah.

Shit.

Vaughn watches, helpless, as the words make their way through the air to Rhys’s ears. The moment stretches out endlessly between them, taut and thrumming like a tightrope, and Vaughn thinks he’s maybe going to die. He’s going to keel over right here and perish, because he’s forgotten how to breathe and that can’t possibly be sustainable for any significant length of time.

Rhys blinks. His mouth opens and then snaps shut.

Vaughn doesn’t die, much to his dismay, and as the seconds tick by, he’s still so very alive that he gets to feel the wild, rabid panic clawing its way up his ribcage. _Shit_ , he thinks again, some more, watching Rhys’s stunned face. _Shit, shit, shit_. There’s the truth, and then there’s _absurd, face-melting honesty_ , and Vaughn just blew right by them both like a poorly aimed moonshot. Rhys is clearly short-circuiting from shock—and why wouldn’t he be, he gave Vaughn one lousy compliment and Vaughn _literally confessed his eternal love_ , how did that even happen—so, yeah, this conversation is pretty damn over now and it’s time for Vaughn to salvage some minuscule shred of dignity and get the hell out of—

But before he can make his excuses and bolt, Rhys is suddenly there, like, _right_ there, the empty inches of couch between them gone and the length of his leg warm against Vaughn’s own.

“Oh, hey,” Vaughn says, not really doing a great job of hiding the waver in his voice. “So, um. About… that. Stuff. The stuff that I said.”

Rhys doesn’t seem too concerned, though, because he reaches up and strokes warm fingertips against Vaughn’s jaw, sweeping his thumb over Vaughn’s mouth until it closes. His smile is impossibly sweet and completely unnerving.

“Vaughn,” he says softly. “My perfect, brilliant Vaughn. Believe me. I know what you said, what you’ve been saying, and I am going to make you say all of it again later, many times. While naked in my bed, ideally. But right now, I need you to just—.”

And then, just like that, Rhys is kissing him.

Rhys is _kissing him_.

Vaughn is so surprised at first that he doesn’t respond—can’t respond, in fact: he’s so busy trying to parse what the hell Rhys said that it’s mostly automatic how his lips part for Rhys’s, how he sways forward into Rhys’s touch like all of Helios has tilted beneath them.

But then Vaughn’s brain reboots and the words sort themselves into an order that makes some kind of sense, and— _oh_.

Vaughn surges into the kiss, pulling himself up with a hand at the back of Rhys’s neck. It's probably not subtle, the way he works one leg underneath himself and swings the other over Rhys’s lap, but then, _naked in my bed later_ isn’t exactly subtle either, so. He supposes Rhys is maybe okay with it.

Rhys laughs, a real laugh, finally, bright and joyful against Vaughn’s mouth. Vaughn drinks it in, dizzy on Rhys’s hot breath as he kisses along the curve of Rhys’s smile. Rhys slides his hands into Vaughn’s shirt where it’s riding up in the back and Vaughn arches at the shock of it, one palm so hot and human against his spine and the other a perfect, biting cold.

“Shit,” Vaughn gasps, and Rhys takes advantage of the way Vaughn’s head lolls back to press a neat line of kisses down his throat. “That’s fucking freezing, you dick. Doesn’t it come with a—” Rhys curls his knuckles against Vaughn’s skin and damn it, those are even colder, “ _ahh_ —a warming function or something?” Rhys was enhancement-free, so to speak, the last time they did this, so Vaughn genuinely doesn’t know. He’s thought about it a time or two (or twenty), what the mechanical hand might feel like and whether it has certain… advantages, but he’s never been brave enough to ask.

“Mm, sorry,” Rhys says. He sets his teeth against Vaughn’s collarbone and slides his hand down, down, _down_ , until cool metal fingers are slipping beneath Vaughn’s waistband. “Gotta warm it up the old fashioned way, I’m afraid.”

Vaughn laughs into Rhys’s hair and it’s almost embarrassing, how giddy and breathless he sounds. “You’re such a perv,” he says, but of course he’s thinking about it in earnest now, all the ways they could bring the robotic digits up to body temperature. He can’t even decide which one he’d want to try first, honestly. They all make his head spin.

“Yeah, but you love it, right?” Rhys counters. “You love _me_.”

Vaughn can’t see Rhys’s face, but he can definitely hear the teasing grin in his voice. He drops his forehead to Rhys’s shoulder. “Oh god. That really happened, didn’t it.”

Rhys nuzzles at the spot behind Vaughn’s ear, which does take the sting out of his humiliation somewhat. “Aw, c’mon. It was sweet.”

“Sweet.” Vaughn groans. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘incredibly dumb,’ huh.”

Rhys’s hand stills where it’s been inching down over Vaughn’s ass. “No, no, it’s. I mean, uh.” Rhys huffs out a breath and they’re so close that Vaughn feels it, all over, Rhys’s chest pushing up to meet his own, warm air buffeting the back of his neck. “You did mean it, right?”

Vaughn pulls back so that he can fix Rhys with a properly incredulous look. The ECHO’s not scanning anything: Vaughn can see from this distance that its tiny servos are quiet. But Rhys’s eyes are still wide and so, so bright.

“Yes,” Vaughn breathes. “Geez, Rhys, of course I meant it. Granted, I didn’t exactly plan on saying it like that, right then, but—” He knocks their foreheads together gently. “One hundred percent fact, bro. I—kinda have for a while now, I guess.”

“Me too,” Rhys says right back, and Vaughn didn’t even realize he’d been waiting to hear that until his heart leaps like it’s trying to take flight.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” Rhys’s arms tighten gratifyingly around Vaughn’s waist. “Pretty much since—well, you probably don’t remember, we were so plastered, but there was this night back in college when we drank a whole bottle of that shitty spiced moonshine I picked up, and then we sort of, um—”

“Rhys.”

“—and I know it wasn’t the most... romantic night ever? But I think about it sometimes—well, a lot, actually, I guess it’s fair to say I think about it a lot—about how great it was, how great _you_ were—and I—”

“ _Rhys_.”

“—I know I should have mentioned it sooner, but I didn’t want to make things weird if you weren’t on the same page, so I decided to wait until the right moment to bring it up, you know? But that never really happened, and then—”

“Rhys!”

Rhys finally falls silent, looking up at Vaughn with a harried expression. Vaughn knows that feeling all too well now, and can’t help but smile as he tries to calm Rhys’s fears with another quick kiss. “We’re idiots,” he says.

Rhys’s brow furrows. “We are?”

“Colossally huge morons who are dumb in all the same ways and could’ve have been doing this for ages,” Vaughn confirms. “You think I would have touched that moonshine for anyone I wasn’t already completely stupid over?”

Rhys frowns harder, and then he gets it and his face clears like the sky after a storm. He laughs, loud and long, and it echoes around them in the empty office until Vaughn feels enveloped by the sound.

"Well, shit,” Rhys says finally. “Okay, so do you want to get out of here, then? Go back to my place and do some more stuff we’ll be embarrassed to talk about afterward?”

It's Vaughn’s turn to laugh, and he offers Rhys a hand up as he levers himself to his feet. “Absolutely,” he says. “But the moonshine isn’t invited, right? I don’t think I’m ready for that whole experience again quite yet. My _hangover_ had a hangover.”

“No way,” Rhys says, stepping forward to slide a hand into Vaughn’s hair and tilt his head up. He kisses Vaughn again and this one’s all tongue, filthy and full of promise. “I’m not sharing you this time, not even with the good booze.”

“Thank god,” Vaughn says as they pull apart. He nips at Rhys’s chin as he comes down off his toes. “But you never did have to share me, just so you know. I was always all yours.”

Rhys’s grin lights up his whole face and he takes Vaughn’s hand, threading their fingers together. “Awesome. So I’m the coolest _and_ luckiest guy in Hyperion, then.”

Vaughn doesn’t reply; instead he just grins back and lets Rhys lead him out, toward the residential wing. He’s said a lot today, after all; he should probably save his voice for all the things Rhys wants to hear later.


End file.
